Ink and Shadows

by Rhys Ford

  “See how it stays clear of the wraiths clustered away from the light?” Death pointed out the slithering masses on the walls. “It’s old. If it strays too near, it probably isn’t strong enough to fight off the wraithlings. They would overpower it just in sheer numbers and take the troll down. Wraiths prefer to eat flesh because it makes them stronger, but it isn’t often that wraithlings find something too weak to fight them off.”

  “Kind of unfair that he can’t eat them but they can eat him.”

  “Life was never meant to be fair.”

  “Those wraith things are like rats.” Kismet made a face. “If you slept outside, sometimes you’d wake up and find rats chewing on your legs or fingers if you weren’t covered up all the way. I have a friend that had those things all over her face when she didn’t take her meds. I used to think they were just things I saw because I was sober.”

  “They’ll do that,” Death agreed. “If someone’s weak and injured, they’ll swarm on them to feed.”

  “There’s food behind us, probably.” Kismet twisted around, looking at the restaurant’s Dumpster. The latch on the lid fed over a hook. “If I open it up, will he come and look around? Can they jump that high? Could he eat that food?”

  “It should be able to eat, but I don’t think it can jump that high. It looks too injured.” Death nodded. “I doubt it will come near us. We’re larger Veiled, predators. We’re more of a threat than the wraithlings. The reason the shadows aren’t afraid of us is because they’re too young to recognize anything larger. They’re more like a primordial ooze.”

  “Screw them.” The young man stood, brushing at the dirt on the back of his pants. “Fucking black maggots.”

  Standing, Kismet shoved at the Dumpster’s heavy black plastic lid. Balancing on the Dumpster’s rigid lip, he reached inside, wrinkling his nose at the smell. Several white garbage bags gaped open, the tied ends easily ripped apart under Kismet’s strong fingers. Discarded to-go containers filled with noodles and fragrant deep-fried chicken were within the artist’s reach, and he grabbed at the boxes’ thin metal handles.

  Yanking several free, he dug out what he could, sliding unsteadily back onto his feet. Still light-headed, Kismet nearly stumbled off the curb. Death rose swiftly, catching at the boy’s hips to steady him. Stubborn, Kismet shook the bemused Horseman off. Carefully approaching the apprehensive troll, Kismet padded farther into the softly lit alley.

  “I’m not going to get too close, boy.” Kismet kept his tone low, soothing the troll’s nerves. Spilling the food outward, Kismet tried to keep most of the containers as far away from the writhing walls as he could. Kismet backed away slowly, then returned to sit by Death’s side.

  “It’s not going to do any good in the long run,” Death commented softly. “It’s too weak to survive much longer.”

  The troll moved slowly over to the food, trying to sense a trap. Its small hands dug into the noodles, shoving long lengths of chow fun into its gaping maw. Slurping up the strands, it closed its eyes into narrow slits of pleasure before chewing, stopping only long enough to shovel more food into its gullet.

  “Doesn’t matter.” Kismet kept his eyes on the feeding troll. “If he dies with a full belly, then he’s better off than a lot of people I’ve known. Shit, it would be all I want.”

  Another cry shattered the night, the sound caught behind the Veil. The troll bolted back into the safety of a hole in the wall, dodging the outstretched tangles of shadows reaching for its decrepit body. Mal’s scream of pain brought tears to Kismet’s eyes, his worry nearly overwhelming him.

  Death swallowed at the lump in his throat, holding in his concern for Mal. The young man beside him obviously shared his pain. Kismet hunkered down, arms wrapped tight around his shins. The air went silent again, and still no one came from the shop to give them any news, good or bad.

  Death touched Kismet’s leg when the young man leaned toward him. At least he would have company in staring at the door, Death thought. Perhaps with both of them hoping Mal was in good hands, Faith would see fit to help the youngest of his Four.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “YOU. GET out of the way. You’re too big.” Kay shoved Ari aside with a poke of her sharp elbow.

  Powders flew into the bowl she’d tucked into the crook of her arm, a hefty splash of hot rice vinegar serving as liquid for the thickening brew.

  Ari shot Mal a grin when the younger immortal blanched at the smell. Muttering at the older Horseman, Mal wrinkled his nose. “She’s going to make me into a nori maki roll.”

  In the close confines of the back room, Min was the only one of the Horsemen who could move freely under the hanging labyrinth of dangling sacks and pots. Ari’s temple bore more than one mark on it, his head a target for anything heavy hoisted up onto a hook on the beams above.

  Enormous glass jars lined shelves on the long side of the room, a flattened snout floating in and out of view through one canister’s milky liquid. Another held dried beetles, dark hematite carapaces broken open to reveal the delicate beige lacy wings folded against the insects’ wide bodies. The old woman shuffled past the containers, occasionally peering at the contents until she found the one she was looking for. A pus-hued fine grain joined the bowl’s contents, frothing the mixture with an oatmeal texture.

  Sincerely wishing the woman would allow Death to come inside, the blond patted at the youngest Horseman’s arm, a pained expression flitting across Ari’s face. He wasn’t good at comfort. Between the two of them, Death nurtured the Horsemen, guiding them with a gentle hand and kind word, a mentor that expected discipline and commanded respect. Ari much preferred his own role as the ne’er-do-well. Immortality was much easier that way.

  “Don’t move, Pest. She’s got to finish mixing this crap up first,” Ari said. “I’m sure you’ll be puking before she even digs down past your rib bones.”

  “You ever do something like this before?” Min sniffed at the bowl, wrinkling her nose when the steam burned her nostrils. “Pull something out of one of us, I mean.”

  “All the time on the Courts’ people.” Kay paused, thinking before continuing. “On immortals, three times in my past life. None in this one so far, but that doesn’t matter. You never lose these kinds of skills.”

  “Wait! Hold on a minute.” Mal’s eyes grew wild as he started to rise up. Ari shoved him back down, the hard shock of hitting the futon’s frame sending pangs through Mal’s chest. “Go easy, Ari. That hurts more than the bullet.”

  “Lie back, kid.” Ari’s tone left no room for argument. “You have to trust us on this.”

  The woman hovered near Mal’s side, her fingers dipped into the slimy concoction. Trailing her hand upward, she dribbled the potion over the bullet wound, mumbling under her breath. With a hissing splash, the mixture burrowed into Mal’s skin, festering at the edges of the healed-over hole. As Mal fought unconsciousness, the upper layers of his skin began to bubble, pockets of blisters that jiggled before popping under the pressure of the water beneath.

  “What can you do to make the shadows stay off him?” Kay asked, her arms nearly a blur as she returned to beating the powders into the vinegar, smoothing out the last of the grainy pockets. “Or are all of you so strong that they will leave him alone?”

  The wraiths in question slithered around the edges of the back room, catching in the rough grain of the wood planks the woman had used to build shelves to hold loose supplies. The inkiness of the shadows grew deeper as more gathered just outside of the light, drawn by the scent of Mal’s flesh opening up beneath the acrid potion. Hungry, the wraiths clawed from the Veil, sensing an easy meal.

  “I can keep the Veil down,” Ari said. “That should keep the bloodsuckers out.”

  “Well, except the one cutting into him,” Min muttered, watching the woman set down the bowl and begin to unravel lengths of silk to soak up Mal’s blood with. “I can’t believe we’re letting her keep his blood.”

  “Small price to pay to keep him w
ith us.” Ari winked at Mal’s awestruck look. “Well, that’s what Death said. Don’t give me that puppy-dog expression, Pest. You know how much hell I gave you for that redcap? You think I’d let her have that much from one of us unless Death said so?”

  Mal was about to answer when he choked on his words, his lungs unable to catch at the air. The pain returned full force, unyielding in its quest to break him apart. Concentrating, Mal reminded himself of wanting his existence, fighting the rise of depression each push of anguish shoved farther into his brain. Nearly shattering under the onslaught, Mal pushed back, keeping the other Horsemen in his thoughts.

  Clinging to anything to anchor him to the Veil, Mal found his mind wandering over to the image of the sloe-eyed artist smiling at him, talking in hushed tones while lying back on a couch. For those few minutes, he’d held a sense of normalcy in his world, a connection he never quite understood existed until Kismet sat there and listened to what he had to say.

  There was something between them. More than the protectiveness Mal felt in his heart when Kismet was around. A heady potential was just within reach, a future Mal wondered if he could possess. The pain of the bullet didn’t seem as overwhelming as the fear of losing out at the chance for something. Even a friendship would be better than the lonely existence the Horsemen led.

  Min held onto Mal’s ankles as the youngest Horseman fought the pain riding through him. An unearthly howl tore from his throat, raspy and anguished. Ari leaned forward, grabbing Mal’s hands, holding tight to the younger Horseman. After moving to the other side of the futon, away from where the old woman stood, Ari got down to his knees on the padding.

  “You have to hold your other arm down, Mal.” Ari slid his belt free from his jeans, looping the leather under the edge of the bed frame. He buckled the strap closed, then held the circled end out for Mal to grab onto. “You either have to hold on to that, or I have to tie your wrist down. Can you do that, kid?”

  “I can do that.” Mal panted, the poultice boiling down into the soft unhealed flesh under the wound.

  He swore he smelled himself cooking, the burning, acrid stink of human fat wiping out the foul stench of the potion. Another kick of torment left a metallic oily taste along Mal’s gums, nerve endings raw with pain. His teeth now ached, the bones in his head shifting under the pounding of his abused nervous system. Grabbing at the belt, Mal wrapped his hand into the loop, feeling the buckle bite into the soft mound of his palm.

  “You sure you can’t give him something to knock him out?” Min hissed at the woman, a hot flow of Wu crackling with anger.

  “No.” Kay shook her head, the hair on her temple bobbing with sweat. “It’s better if he’s awake. He’ll feel more pain the closer I get to the space where the festering is. That’s the only way I’ll be able to tell if I am reaching it. Your kind heals up too quickly. There’s no wound to follow.”

  “Great. More pain.” Mal bit down on his lip, tasting blood on his tongue.

  Ari gripped the younger Horseman’s free hand with both of his own, holding tight. Mal knew one of Ari’s hands was for the Horseman they’d left outside. Death was in Ari’s touch, as if he were there beside them. The elder Horsemen shared a connection Mal could feel in Ari’s comforting strength.

  Despite all of the troubles and arguments between them, the close-knit pair sustained one another, lending that compassion and vitality to Mal when he needed it the most.

  “Don’t fool yourself into thinking I’m going to like you more once this is done,” Ari whispered, hot in Mal’s ear. “You’re still going to be a pain in the ass until you get your shit together, Cooties.”

  “I’d think I was dying if you treated me any different, asshole,” Mal responded, hearing Ari chuckle low in his throat.

  “Maybe having that kid around is a good thing for you.” The older Horseman kept Mal’s attention on him, the edge of a newly sharpened knife glittering in Kay’s hand. “You’re finally growing some spine there.”

  The first slice into Mal’s chest seared, a serpentine curve downward as his nerve endings curled back from the blade’s intrusion. Hooking the knife into the cut, the woman pushed aside muscle, probing for any hint of lingering darkness that would guide her in. Dipping her fingers back into the bowl she set on the floor, Kay scooped another handful of the caustic mixture, then let it dribble down into the cut.

  Blackness overtook Mal’s vision, a faint droning buzz echoing in his ears for nearly five seconds before he realized it was his own scream echoing in his throat. Fighting to keep the pain at bay, Mal heard Ari’s whispering entreaties, finding a focus in the Horseman’s voice.

  Probing farther in, Kay found a thread of silver wrapped tight around one of Mal’s blood vessels.

  Before she could poke at the strand, it wisped upward, a dusty tendril catching on the fresh air of the outside world. With his body breached, the Horseman’s flesh easily gave up the tormenting slice of reality caught within him. The sliced muscles were already knitting together, edges of skins sealing up around the blade’s steel. Cursing, Kay cut into Mal again, hoping to open the gap wider and reach deeper inside.

  “Gods, Ari,” Mal hissed, his stomach falling into spasms with the pain. “I can’t….”

  “She’s probably close to the bullet,” Ari reassured their youngest, fixing a glare on Kay. “You are close, right?”

  “He’s healing too quickly.” The knife dripped with blood, any sheen lost beneath the slick red fluid.

  Kay wiped at her forehead with her arm. She dropped the thin scalpel onto a tray then reached for a wider blade, hoping the larger intrusion would seal slower. “I can’t keep it open long enough to dig in.”

  “Here. Sorry, Mal, but I have to do this to you.” Reaching over, Ari shoved his fingers into the incision. “You cut down, and I’ll use my hand to hold it open. He won’t be able to heal over me.”

  “Fuck,” Min swore, biting her tongue as she was nearly thrown by Mal’s twisting legs. Lying down fully across the Horseman’s knees, Min wrapped her arms around Mal’s hips, hoping she could keep him still.

  “Just hurry this up.” Mal’s vision swam, his focus lost in the screaming pain of his body’s rejection of Ari’s fingers. “Damn. This hurts so damned much.”

  “Just don’t wiggle your fingers,” the woman warned Ari. “If I cut anything off, it’s going to stay in there until I’m done.”

  “Honey, my dick’s not anywhere near your knives, and that’s the only part of my body that I’m ever worried about,” Ari shot back. “Almost there, Mal. Just hang on a bit more.”

  Losing consciousness, Mal let the numbness envelop him. Free of the pain, he sighed, his mind drifting along the comfort of sleep. The euphoria proved to be brief. A sharp, harsh burn on his torso woke him and filled the back of his skull with new agony.

  Coughing at the odor pouring into his sinuses, Mal choked, his lungs screaming for clean air. The dank perfume of the stock room returned, fresh compared to the contents of the cotton-stopper vial Kay pulled out from under his nose. Mal’s chest ached, the intrusion of Ari’s hand a steady push against his skin, the older Horseman’s spread fingers keeping the incision from sealing closed. Min rested nearly on Mal’s abdomen, her triangular face pale from the exertion of holding the youngest Horseman down.

  “Sorry, Mal.” Ari bent closer, shoving his fingers in deeper to fill in the excavated space Kay made. “We need you here with us, kid. She really can’t tell where this thing is unless you can scream hot or cold.”

  “Can’t tell the difference between your damned fingers and the bullet,” Mal gasped, panting to gain some control over his agonized breathing.

  “I’m not going to move for a bit.” Ari met Min’s eyes. The woman slid back down to grip at Mal’s hips, holding the youngest steady. “You figure out what hurts more and where.”

  Mal lay there, two of his companions on his body while another, two others, remained outside. At that moment, he wanted just a shred of the el
dest’s self-control. His mind clouded with what would happen to Kismet if he pulled away from his calling, falling back into the Universe’s embrace. Going away didn’t terrify him, not as much as he thought it would, but regrets suddenly filled Mal’s thoughts. He’d never know what it was like to be kissed by a mouth not paid for by Ari’s charms or money. Or even sharing a quiet meal with someone who didn’t spend most of their existence elbow-deep in humans’ shit.

  A pang echoed in his chest, and his heart twisted with pain. Besides the ache of his wound, Mal could feel the foreign slice of reality embedded in his muscle, Kay’s metal knife a few centimeters away.

  “To the left. My left.” Mal closed his eyes. Fear remained in his thoughts, reminding Mal to focus hard on staying. A single devout wish to be gone from the pain would send him under, his body whisked off to wherever immortals disappeared to after they’d given up. “It’s under Ari’s hand. Right near the third finger down.”

  “There it is.” The blade hit metal, a fragment of a whirlwind spinning up from around the bullet’s misshapen form. Kay exchanged her knife for a pair of long tweezers, then slid them carefully past Ari’s fingertips. Shards of metal clung to the reality caught inside of Mal’s body, wrapping tight around the injury. “You have to hold still now. I don’t know how deep this is. It’s going to hurt when I dig around. I don’t want to stab your heart while I’m doing this.”

  “Is it that close?” Ari sounded worried to Mal’s ears, faint and distant. “Death needs to be here.”

  “He stays outside, or I cut your fingers off and let him heal up around them.” Kay’s voice bounced off Mal’s hearing, a tinny, high-pitched sound.

  The shadows crept closer, a different sort of darkness that Mal couldn’t get a focus on. Acting mostly on instinct, Mal strained to hold the Veil down, hoping it would ease the shadows back into the corners of the room. Frustrated at the lack of response, Mal pulled on his control over the Veil, slapping back at the wraiths hovering close. The darkness lingered, graying out slowly until nothing remained but a powdery dusting of ash that eventually faded away.